“You’re wrong. And though I’m glad you saved me from drowning, I’m angry that you think I have no honor at all.” Her heartbeat quickened, and she continued talking, giving him all the reasons why she didn’t want him.
By the time she reached the fifth reason, she realized he wasn’t listening to her at all. Instead, his eyes were fixed upon the back of the tent, as if he found it fascinating.
He could have left, she realized. Instead, he’d remained without speaking a single word.
“Well? Have you nothing to say?” she prompted.
“I have never met a woman who talks as much as you do,” he said at last. His impassive expression irritated her even more.
“Don’t tease me.” She knew she talked a great deal, but it wasn’t her intent. It was simply the desire to fill the empty space, to blot out the discomfort he made her feel.
Styr pushed the food towards her. “Eat the fish. There’s bread, as well, that your brothers brought.”
“Bread?” She couldn’t control the delight at the thought of tasting bread again. She didn’t care if it was green with mold or the texture of rocks.
When she tasted it, she had to suppress her sigh of delight. She devoured the bread, nearly finishing the last piece, when she suddenly remembered that Styr might not have eaten, either.
“Have you had anything to eat this night?” She offered him the rest of the bread, in case he hadn’t.
Styr nodded and sat across from her. He waited for her to finish, and as the uncomfortable silence stretched on, she said, “Will you tell me about your wife?”
“Why?” His tone sounded disgruntled, as if he wanted to share nothing about Elena.
Because she thought the topic would put him at ease, truthfully. Instead, she said, “You miss her, don’t you?”
“I want her to be safe. It’s different.”
Caragh frowned. “Tell me more about her. I know she’s very beautiful.”
Some of his frustration subsided, and he nodded. “She is.” His expression relented and he admitted, “I used to tease her about her red hair. I didn’t like the color when I was younger, and she was angry with me for saying so.”
“I can’t imagine,” she responded drily.
His mouth twitched. “She tried to cut off my hair while I was sleeping. I was nine years old at the time.”
She picked at the fish, savoring each bite. As she ate, she was careful not to reveal any of her nakedness. “What did you do?”
“When I woke up, I caught her with a length of my hair. I tried to hit her, but my father caught me.”
“Did he thrash you for it?”
Styr nodded. “And he cut off the rest of my hair in punishment. So that everyone would know I tried to strike a girl.”
Her amusement faded at that. “But you forgave her, didn’t you?”
“When I was older.” His voice held a tone she didn't quite understand, almost as if it held a trace of guilt.
When Styr offered nothing else about his wife, Caragh asked another question, though already she suspected the answer. “Do you have children?”
“No.” The quiet answer held a grim ring to it, and she realized she’d touched upon a delicate subject.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pried.”
“Be ready to leave at first light,” was all he said, taking away the cloth that had contained her food.
Chapter Seven
All night long, Styr had been haunted by the image of Caragh’s bare shoulders. Though she’d kept herself covered throughout their conversation, his mood had darkened as his mind turned to other memories.
